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More quotes by William Somervile
My hoarse-sounding horn
Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings;
Image of war, without its guilt.
The Chace (1735)
Fortune is like a widow won,
And truckles to the bold alone.
For the next inn he spurs amain,
In haste alights, and skuds away,
But time and tide for no man stay.
Whate'er of earth is form'd, to earth returns,
* * * * The soul
Of man alone, that particle divine,
Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail.
The Chace (1735)
Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
Rejoic'd I see thy purple mantle spread
O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend.
The Chace (1735)
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